


Chance

by mggislife2789



Category: Criminal Minds, Derek Morgan - Fandom
Genre: Buried Alive, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 22:29:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8551642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mggislife2789/pseuds/mggislife2789
Summary: After running into a man and confessing her worst fear, the reader gets captured by him, unaware that he was the unsub they were looking for. Can her boyfriend and fellow profiler, Derek, come to the rescue?Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or their original stories. This is only for fun. It's where my brain goes after the credits roll. No copyright intended. Better safe than sorry. ;)





	

“I have to go pick up some stuff at the pharmacy on the way home, babe,” you said. “How about you go to the supermarket to grab what I need for chicken parm and I’ll go to the pharmacy and I’ll see you at home.” You stood up on your tiptoes, and whispered in his ear, “You could also pick up some whipped cream and I wouldn’t be mad about it,” you winked.

He took your lips in his, trying his best not to devour you right in the middle of the BAU. “Sounds good. I love you. See you at home.”  
\------------------

There was nothing you’d rather be doing less than picking up stuff at the pharmacy, so you made your way through the aisles grabbing what you needed as fast as you could. You hadn’t been paying attention to where you were going at all, when you turned a corner and ran directly into somebody. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” you said, “I’m in a rush and wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry, again.”

“Don’t worry about it,” the man said, grabbing the shampoo he wanted from the shelf. “Car crash in aisle 8,” he laughed.

“Car crash?” you said, wondering why he’d said that in particular.

“Yea, I was in a bad accident a few years ago, so now I take the bus because I’m deathly afraid of driving,” he said, shaking his head. “You have something like that? Something that scares you even though there’s a one in a million chance it would happen?”

“Absolutely,” you said without thought, “Being buried alive is something that undoubtedly won’t happen in my lifetime, but the thought of it makes my heart race.” You grabbed your chest, faking a laugh as you wiped the invisible sweat from your brow.

“Oh, man, yea,” he said grimacing, “that would be awful. Well, nice bumping into you. Sorry about that.”

“Totally my fault,” you said, gesturing towards him with your free hand. “Sorry again. Have a good one.”

\------------------

For the past few days, you’d been feeling like you were being followed. It was freaking you out. Even as an FBI profiler, you still got scared, especially when the unsub you were trying to catch at the moment was killing in all sorts of different ways. They were being completely unpredictable, which always made things more difficult.

“You okay, baby?” Derek asked, watching as you rubbed the back of your neck. You were getting goosebumps, as if someone was actually following you and they were close by. 

“Something’s just not sitting right with me,” you said, looking around at the crime scene. “Our victims have been stabbed, choked, burned alive, drowned. Nothing is consistent. What if the inconsistencies aren’t because he uses what’s convenient for him, but rather because it’s what the victims fear most?” You remembered a few days ago when the nice gentlemen you’d bumped into said he was deathly afraid of driving. “None of the victims are consistent. High and low risk lifestyles. Gender doesn’t match. Sexual orientation doesn’t match. Race doesn’t match, what if their connection is in that they each feared the way they died?”

“That does make sense,” he said, “especially given the fact that each of the victims seemed to be new in the area at the time. They all befriended the same person and paid the ultimate price.”

“I hope we catch him quickly.” Not that dying was ever an easy thing, but dying in the way you feared most was a special kind of hell.

“Alright, I’m going to go call Hotch and tell him what we’re thinking and then I’ll be back and we can go over the other burial site with forensics,” you said, pulling out your cell phone and walking toward a quiet area where you could hear yourself think. 

The next thing you knew, you had pressed Hotch’s speed dial setting and felt a crack at the back of your head.  
\------------------

“Where is Y/N?” Derek asked JJ as he walked into the station.

She shrugged. “i thought she was with you.”  
“No...she walked off to call you,” he said pointing at Hotch, “and that was the last time I saw her.”

“She never called me,” Hotch said worriedly.

Derek immediately ran out of the station and drove back to the burial site, running toward the last direction he saw her go in. When he found what he was looking for, he called Hotch. “Hotch, Y/N’s phone is cracked on the ground. He took her.”

“Ok, think this through,” JJ said, “We are working on the assumption that this man, a psychiatrist from what we believe, is killing people in the way they fear most. Derek, what is Y/N most afraid of?”

“Being buried alive.”

\------------------

As you came to, your head was pounding and your vision was blurry. Once your vision came back into focus, a man who looked very familiar to you hovered into your line of sight. “So being buried alive is your worst fear?” he said.

It was the man you’d bumped into the other day. He was the unsub. “Well, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to watch someone who was supposedly fearless die in the way they fear most,” he said, pulling you by your hair into the hole nearby. It was just deep enough that you wouldn’t be able to get out. He opened a bag of dirt and started pouring it at your feet.

You couldn’t get your footing and your head was pounding. Your heart started palpitating as he emptied bag after bag of dirt into the hole with you. It was getting up towards your chest and you started to hyperventilate. “Not so fearless now,” he said, as he opened another bag of soil. You inhaled a chunk of dirt as it got closer to your face.

“Goodbye, Agent,” the man said, pouring out the remnants of dirt from the final bag. You could no longer see him and you could barely move. You felt the dirt around your eyes become wet with tears. This was it. The last thing you saw before you passed out was Derek’s face.

\------------------

They’d identified the man as Dr. Stanley Hooper. He’d let his lease lapse and was no longer practicing. “Where would he have taken her?” Derek asked frantically. “Hotch, I can’t lose her.” 

“We need to keep our heads on straight,” he said. “Where could he take her where he’d be able to have enough space to bury her alive?”

“The bottom of his former work place is being renovated,” JJ said out of nowhere.

Derek ran out without a word, hoping he wasn’t too late.  
\------------------

“Y/N!” Hotch screamed. 

“She’s here!” Derek said, climbing as carefully as he could onto the pile of dirt. They pushed the dirt off of her as fast as they could and lifted her out onto the floor.

“Come on, baby,” Derek said, starting compressions on her chest. “Don’t die on me.”

One. Two. Three.

One. Two. Three.

He put his lips on hers, pushing air into her lungs as if his own life depended on it.

One. Two. Three.

One. Two...

“Huhhhhhhhh,” you inhaled, dirt flying out of your lungs. As you flailed about, hitting at anything and everything to try and break free, your vision came back into focus.

“Baby, it’s okay. It’s me. It’s Derek. You’re safe,” he said.

Knowing you were safe brought you little comfort at the moment. You started sobbing again as Derek cradled you in his arms.

\------------------

After being checked out by the doctors, you were released hours later. You walked into Derek’s waiting arms, wanting nothing more than to have a few days alone. “I can’t believe I almost lost you,” he said, hugging you tighter than he ever had before. 

“Me either,” you said, looking up into his eyes. The relief in them nearly flooded out. “Can we go home now? I think I need a few days of cuddling and comfort sex to feel better,” you said, laughing. You were alive. You had to laugh or you’d drown in the fear that he’d be back. Even though he couldn’t - he was dead.

“We can definitely do that,” he said, kissing your lips softly. “Thank god you’re okay.”


End file.
